Love is
by Ersatz Writer
Summary: There are nine things about love that you need to know... MidoTaka
1. Love is patient

**AN: **So... no excuses. D: I'm just a bad person.

This is a very, very belated present for **Killing Kathy**, who I owe a tremendous amount of thanks for everything she's done for me. I don't know how I can ever repay you. This fic is an attempt, but, honestly... I'm sorry. A lot of the parts are very (very) short. Ughhhhh... Not to mention it's cheesy as hell. Sometime later, I will gather the effort to clear it up and make it more presentable...

In the mean time, I hope you enjoy. Maybe. *bites nails nervously*

* * *

**1. Love is patient**

Sometimes, some of the bitterness remains.

"Takao. Tea."

He doesn't like to be ordered around. Doesn't enjoy getting up at 6am in the morning, cycling to Midorima's house, taking the other boy to school, taking him home, running after his every want and need.

"Takao, this tea is too faint. Add some more tea leaves."

It's tolerable most of the times. Adapting his routine to fit Midorima's has enabled him to keep something regular going in his own otherwise erratic life. Before he had met Midorima he had been late to school most of the times – since their friendship, he had never failed to be on time.

"Takao, pass me the ball."

_Why should I?! _He sometimes wants to growl. When the defenders overwhelm them and the power is in his hands, he expands his view to fill the entire court. That is when Takao feels at his most powerful - when the fate of the match rests in his hands, and he can see _everything_. He doesn't need to look to see that Miyaji is running, that Otsubo is fighting hard for a space, that Midorima stands poised, ready, eyes glittering like emerald jewels, watching him, expectant, waiting.

Sometimes it makes him smile. Even when he turns he smirks towards Shuutoku's ace. Challenges him. _What makes you think I'll pass to you, Shin-chan? _He wants to ask. A flick of the wrist, and the ball would easily be in Miyaji's hands. _Why do you trust me so much? _

Sometimes, he truly does not want to pass the ball to him.

But he does, always with a smile that is half triumphant, and half bitter. He never knows if Midorima sees it, always feels as though he has somehow submitted to defeat when he throws, when he sees Midorima catch the ball and score.

_Why do I listen to you, Shin-chan? _

For all his flaws and extreme lack of expressions, Midorima is generally quite well tolerated within the team, though threats of violence were never too far away. Sometimes it is too easy to forget that he is not just some superstitious machine with an irritating personality. Sometimes, it is too easy to believe that Midorima is not human.

"Ah, Shin-chan, I can't pick you up today. I'm not feeling too well. I can't cycle up that hill again."

There is a pause from the other end of the phone. Midorima does not speak for a long time. "I see," he says, eventually, too calm, too callous. "That is unfortunate. I hope you will recover soon."

And he hangs up, without an additional word, leaving Takao wondering idly whether their proud shooter would cycle himself to school, or walk, or even take the public transport. The image of Midorima huffing and puffing up the hill is more than enough to have him smirking to his mirror.

Twenty minutes later, a sleek, dark car pulls up before Takao's door.

He sees the tinted window roll down, see Midorima's cool, emerald eyes gaze calmly back at him. His glasses only faintly reflect the mouth-open surprise that adorns Takao's face.

"S-Shin-chan, you…!" The sly bastard. "Y-You have a _car_?"

"Of course," replies Midorima, light eyebrows furrowing slightly. To add insult to injury, he adds: "I have several."

"You – WHAAAAT?!" Takao tries hard to close his jaw. It still does not shut all the way. "Sh-Shin-chan! Then all this time… You have me _cycle_ you up that massive hill to school… Why?!"

"It is good exercise, isn't it?" says Midorima, and a door flicks smoothly open in a whir of electronics. "Get in."

"Ah, but I'm sick – "

"That is no excuse," Midorima glares. "We have basketball practice at the end of today, and I still need to get my lucky item for today." He pauses. "Which is, by the way, a green stuffed turtle."

"You don't need me for that…" Takao whines. It can be difficult to understand Midorima's way of thinking. He was apparently raised on a unique brand of logic unused by any other human being. "I could die from my cold… And besides, I usually go to all the basketball practices, if I practice hard enough, it'll be alright for me to miss one session of training, right?"

Midorima's glare does not soften any. "Do not be so arrogant, you fool." He states, eyes cold behind his glasses. "Now get in."

Takao wonders briefly if this green-haired maniac before him would have dragged him to school even if he is dying of some incurable disease. He stands his ground for a moment, arms folded, and then, finally, with a resigned sigh, tugs open the car door and slips in.

_Why can't I win an argument against you, Shin-chan? _

Midorima huffs softly, perhaps his own way of expressing his triumph, and turns his eyes resolutely to the window. _Typical, _Takao thinks, _he pesters me until I agree to go with him, and then completely ignores me. _

"Where're we going?" The dark haired point guard asked, resting his arms behind his head. "It's too early for school, isn't it?"

"Isn't it obvious, you idiot?" Midorima gives him an exasperated look, as though Takao is the crazy one there. "We are going to get my lucky item. I am not going to start the day without it."

"Riiiight…" Takao groans. "Honestly, Shin-chan, you're old enough to buy your own stuff now. You don't need me tagging along." He coughs with great exaggeration and pretends to slump unenergetically in his seat. "I could die." He tries again.

It doesn't work. "You'll be fine," Midorima asserts, brows knitting faintly together, but after a pause, he adds, almost too quietly for Takao to hear: "Look after yourself."

"What's this? What's this?" The shorter boy – with considerably good hearing – beams at this quiet utterance, sitting up abruptly as the opportunity to tease the other revealed itself mercilessly. "I'm flattered, Shin-chan! You actually care about me! Could it be…!" He gasps in mock surprise and jabs in the direction of Midorima's chest. "Could it be… You actually have a heart?!"

Midorima swats away Takao's hand as though it is a fly. His face flushes slightly. "Don't be ridiculous," he coughs, turning away slightly. "Who else will pass the ball to me if you're gone?"

And all the jibes Takao has prepared in retaliation fade away on his tongue.

Of course. Who else would tolerate their ace's strange, awkward behaviour? Who else would tend to Midorima's every selfish demand, to make his powerful threes possible? Who else would bother to stay by him? Who else does he have?

If not Takao, then no one.

Takao sits back. He watches their now silent shooter, who is currently staring out of the window. Perhaps embarrassed? His face never betrays much. His eyes are cool and thoughtful, chin resting in the palm of his hand. Takao wonders what he is thinking. He has never understood Midorima.

But now, he understands at least a little.

_Why do I put up with you, Shin-chan? Why do I listen to your words? Why do I allow you to win our arguments even with logic as backwards as yours? Why do I pass to you when you ask me to? _

He thinks he has known the answer all along.

_Because I am the only one you have, isn't that right, Shin-chan? _

That's why.

_I suppose I don't hate you enough to want to break your heart like that._

He rubs his chin, wondering idly how much longer they would remain together. At the rate things were going, it looks like… forever.

He steals a glance towards Midorima. The shooter is looking out of the window, green eyes oddly reflective. Has he come to the same conclusion as Takao? Does he even realize the meaning behind his own actions, or is he, as usual, making his own, selfish demands?

Takao stifles a groan at the very idea of putting up with this kind of man for a whole eternity and beyond.

But he finds that he does not mind that as much as he once thought he would.


	2. Love is kind

**2. Love is kind**

"Aaaaaaagh! The exams are coming up, Shin-chaaaaaan!"

Midorima does not understand why Takao likes to repeat what he already knows to him. Repeatedly. Repetitively. Endlessly. _Why?_

He turns and finds the point-guard clutching his Geography textbook in despair. Last minute cramming, by the looks of things. Midorima wonders why he doesn't simply listen to the lesson throughout the year. Surely that was less stressful – for the both of them! – and more effective for good examination scores. He has never understood Takao's mentality.

"Shin-chan! The exams, the exams! I need to get a good score or else I'll be grounded for _life_! Why aren't you helping meeeeee?"

"Are you suggesting I help you cheat?" Midorima scoffs, thoroughly appalled. "Exams are a test of an individual's abilities. I refuse to associate with those who rely on others."

"Hey, hey. Like you could even touch a basketball ball without me stealing it for you!" Takao retaliates, scowling. "Just this once, Shin-chan. Help me, OK?"

Midorima flushes. "That is _not_ reliance," he growls, straightening his glasses. "I can perform steals perfectly by myself. Besides," he adds, "there is no way I can help you. You must learn for yourself." He has never understood Takao's requests for 'assistance' where revision was concerned. The point guard _knows_ that Midorima does not approve and does not participate in cheating. There is simply no other way of 'helping'. Does he perhaps expect Midorima to donate his brain for the cause? That is just ridiculous – but perhaps with intelligence like Takao's, the boy truly thinks it to be possible.

But Takao is talking of another matter. "Your roll-y pencil!" He declares, and points with great fervor towards Midorima's pencil case. "Lemme borrow it, just this once. Please?"

Midorima's face darkens. "No way." He frowns, stuffing his pencil case hastily into his bag. "I'll need this for myself."

"No, you don't!" Takao proclaims indignantly. "You're smart enough to do the exams yourself! I thought you don't 'rely on others'."

"It's a precaution." Midorima states firmly, pulling his bag over his shoulder. He is cautious of Takao's thieving hands and makes sure to hoist it as far away from the other as possible. "I prepare for all possibilities – including the possibility that I may not be able to answer a certain question."

"Ehhh… But that's like, zero, Shin-chan." Takao sidles up to him, eyes large and pleading. "Please? Just this once? I'll even pay you!"

"No."

"I'll buy all your lucky items for the next _month_."

"No."

"I'll get you an exorcist!"

"No – what?"

Takao beams. Apparently he believes he's got through at last. "An exorcist! Y'know, if you need to ward off some bad spirits or ghosts or something!"

Midorima scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, Takao. Ghosts don't exist."

He doesn't entirely understand the slack-jawed expression on Takao's face, but he takes this opportunity to make his escape.

"Wait! Wait!" Takao cries out behind him, as Midorima strides away. "Shin-chan! We have three exams tomorrow! Can you lend it to me for just _one_ of them?"

"No."

"Shin-chan!"

He ignores the point guard's plaintive cry and flees. It is only after he exits the restroom, hopeful that Takao has already left, when he remembers that they were supposed to go home together, as always.

He rounds the corner of the building and heads towards the gate, fearing that Takao, in a fit of vengefulness, has cycled off with his cart. It didn't matter so much; he could always call a car to pick him up, but he worries, if only marginally, whether his blunt refusals have caused any damage.

To his surprise – and, he has to admit, relief – Takao, and his cart, are both waiting for him. Takao has ear phones plugged in and is busy playing on his mobile. When Midorima approaches he looks up, expression set decidedly into a scowl. "Took you long enough," he mutters. "I was gonna ditch you, Shin-chan, but then I thought, maybe if I wait, he'll be so moved by my act of selfless friendship that he'll _lend me the stinking pencil._"

The last half of the sentence is uttered with vehemence and Takao emphasizes his point with a pointed look.

"No."

The reply slips out instinctively before Midorima has a grasp on what he is saying, and by then it is too late to retract it. Takao glares, mutters 'I knew it', and turns away stubbornly.

"Fine." He scoffs, arms folding across his chest. "I don't care. I don't believe in things such as horoscopes and 'lucky items' anyway. No one does anymore, after all."

Midorima's eyes narrow at this unexpectedly low blow. He climbs into the cart and wonders why he is growing so inexplicably angry. Dimly, he tries to remember Cancer's compatibility with Scorpios for that day. Must have been downright crap.

"It really hurts, you know, Midorima?" Takao continues, almost conversationally, as he begins to pedal. He is no longer facing Midorima and the shooter notices the sudden change from 'Shin-chan' to 'Midorima' with a pang that feels vaguely like unease. "I can't believe you think a pencil is worth more than me."

Midorima scrutinizes the other. Takao's tone is strange, and the taller boy cannot read it easily. "Stop sulking," he commands instead, because Takao's words are saddling him with strange, unnecessary feelings, and it makes him feel very uncomfortable. "It's useless."

Takao glances over towards him, just briefly, and his brown eyes glint. Before Midorima could catch his expression properly, the other boy has ducked away again. His shoulders shake; and the shooter cannot tell from what.

The entire journey back home was spent in silence, and Midorima stares after Takao's shadow cycling into the sun without quite knowing what it is he is feeling.

* * *

They head to school separately the following day. Takao would be lying if he says he wasn't feeling nervous, and not just because of the exams.

He wonders what he should say to Midorima when they inevitably meet. Shuutoku's ace shooter had looked so reflective, so solemn on the cycle back the previous day, Takao truly feared his reaction when he finds out the entire event had simply been one big joke.

To Takao, the pencil is just that. A pencil. He has never wanted it as badly as he pretended to, though whether he _needed_ it was debatable. He had been ready to give up, to pass it off as a joke, when Midorima remained stubborn and steadfast, but when he noticed the boy approaching from afar, expression as wary as a man making his way through a minefield, he had wondered idly to himself how his tsundere would react when he discovers how 'painful' a consequence his 'harsh' words had been.

In short, it was a test, an act. One any other, _normal_ human being would have seen through immediately. In fact, if Midorima wasn't such a cuckoo clock, Takao was sure the two of them would be laughing over the matter in the morning.

… Though the idea of Midorima laughing is faintly disturbing and he dismisses it immediately with a shiver.

He approaches his usual classroom with his bag slung across his shoulder and notices immediately that Midorima's desk, sitting just behind his, is empty.

He also notices that his own desk is, conspicuously, not.

Frowning suspiciously, Takao moves closer to inspect the mysterious object sitting upon the wooden surface top.

And he smiles.

Because it is a pencil. A hexagonal shaped pencil with six numbers engraved carefully upon its side. Hand crafted, and unique. Takao knew there were only two such pencils in the world, made by the one boy who had refused him so stubbornly the day before.

_Bastard has a heart after all. _He smirks to himself. _Tsundere._


	3. Love does not envy

**3. Love does not envy**

It is easy to envy Midorima.

When he shoots, his shots are perfect. Midorima moves with the grace of something almost inhuman. When the ball is in his hands, he performs a miracle. His shots arc through the air, so impossibly high, so impossibly beautiful, that even time itself stops to watch.

Midorima is not just powerful; he adds grace to an otherwise tiresome, sweat filled game. His movements are calculated and logical. His mind always clear and calm. Midorima does nothing without reason. His judgment rarely fails him.

Midorima, in short, was perfect. A perfect player upon the court, a perfect ace, a perfect man.

Takao may have envied him once.

But no longer – for Midorima is only a half. Yang, though powerful, can be made even stronger with Ying.

"Over to you, Shin-chan!"

Takao smirks as he passes, as he knocks the ball deftly out of his startled opponent's hands. In a fluid motion he twists, flicks the ball so that it spins past both him and his enemy and as he turns he turns to grin at their ace, at the shooter who is already prepared for his pass when no one else has even reacted.

Midorima's eyes, so lush and green, never betray much emotion behind his outstretched hands. But today, his lips quirk slightly as he reaches for the ball.

Shuutoku's ace draws himself up, jumps, and shoots. Another three points.

Takao does not envy.

_After all, I am Shin-chan's shadow._

It is his role, after all, and he is content.

_I am the shadow that will make the light shine all the brighter._


	4. Love is content

**4. Love is content**

Their days are always very similar.

Takao waits for him at the gate of his house, arms resting lazily across the bicycle pedals. He is always there when Midorima glances out of the window, and when the other notices his approach, he always grins lazily, and salutes.

"Yo, Shin-chan. What's the lucky item for today?"

They would chat briefly, arguing over where best to purchase the aforementioned lucky item. Midorima always wins, and Takao, with an exasperated sigh, would be the one who cycles to their new destination.

"Jeez, Shin-chan." He always says. "Next time I'll be the one sitting in the cart, alright?"

But he never is. Takao is always cycling.

"I'm sure you're cheating," he accuses, occasionally. "There's no way someone can win _every single time_ at Rock-Paper-Scissors, right?"

"I believe in Oha-Asa," Midorima answers, without fail. Because Oha-Asa's words were the truth.

Takao never does anything except scoff when that expected answer comes. An eye-roll, a sarcastic comment, and they continue on their way.

During lessons, Takao always forgets. One thing or another, Midorima is used to seeing the point guard's cheeky grin as he turns on his chair. Always looking for something or other, apparently incapable of looking after himself.

"Hey, Shin-chan, d'you have a spare pen? I've lost mine."

"Hey, Shin-chan, can I borrow your textbook for Question 23? I think I left mine at home."

"Hey, Shin-chan, did we get homework on Thursday? … We did?! Shit! Can I copy up?"

"Hey, Shin-chan…"

"Hey, Shin-chan…"

Takao is annoying. Midorima openly declares this to him. He does not like to disguise his insults, nor does he spoil the other with idle flattery. But Takao always laughs, always shrugs it off, and says:

"You know you love me really."

And then he would prod at Midorima's cheeks, pulling himself up to his tip-toes. And Midorima would knock him on the head, until the point guard is yelping in pain and apologizing frantically.

At lunch, the two sit together, always, on the roof top. Midorima enjoys the breeze, and the view of the school grounds stretched out beneath them. Takao thinks that is merely because the egomaniac enjoys looming over others, and says as such. And, always, Midorima lands him a punch and a glare, and tells him to go irritate someone else.

Not that he means it, and Takao only smirks and ignores him.

When school is over, they practice basketball together, always. Midorima changes into his sports kit in his usual order. He bends, always tying the laces of his right shoe before doing up the left; always putting on his glasses with his right hand; always warming up before he begins. And Takao is always watching, with a strange smile on his face that may or may not be amusement.

At least once a week, Midorima must scold Takao for not warming up properly ('You'll hurt yourself,' he explains, 'and I don't have time to waste sending you to the hospital'), for spending too long idling around performing ball tricks rather than practicing ('Even a seal can entertain an audience like this', he says), for not wearing a clean shirt ('it's disgusting to play with someone who smells and looks atrocious')… There is always something about Takao that Midorima can spot flaws in. The ace would always sigh and glare in exasperation, and Takao would always grumble and complain.

But they work together flawlessly. Takao's passes are sudden, unpredictable, a necessary move in order to evade his opponents. It takes long hours of practice to master his pattern, the way his mind works. It involves losing the ball, perhaps losing their chance in victory. It is an unfortunate flaw – in order to evade his opponents, he must also evade his own teammates. The success of his passes relies almost entirely upon the flexibility and the reaction time of the player he is passing to.

Midorima has never missed Takao's passes. It is not his reaction, nor his speed. He simply knows.

_I wonder what it is about him that makes us work together so well…_

It is a thought which has occurred to both of them, not just once, though neither will ever voice it aloud. Instead:

"Oh, Shin-chan! Is that a tremble I see? That shot almost didn't go in. You must be losing your touch!"

"Don't be absurd, Takao. Your shaky pass threw me off."

When the practice is over, when both are drenched in sweat and the basketballs are scattered about the court that Midorima begins his analysis. He marks areas of improvement for the both of them, devises tactics and solutions to blind spots and imperfections as he tidies, and Takao would be by his side, making suggestions and queries, questioning until they reach a conclusion, an answer, that both are satisfied with.

It is only then, in those brief moments of serious conversation, that they both see something in the other that they do not name.

Takao cycles them both home, his drying shirt dampening once more with his sweat. It is the only time Midorima hesitates, the only time when he wonders if he should offer to cycle instead. There is something like pity, something like guilt.

He doesn't offer, but Takao does not expect it.

They draw up at Midorima's house, where they part, always. Takao grins at him.

"Ready for another day of the same, Shin-chan?" He jokes, smirking.

Midorima's eyes are sharp.

"I'm always ready."

The cycle repeats. Days spent in each other's presence.

Neither seem to mind.


	5. Love is not rude

**5. Love is not rude**

Midorima's cooking is atrocious.

Takao thinks that, and tells the other boy that, through tears of burning agony as he tries to salvage whatever was left of his taste buds.

Midorima looks vaguely insulted, and glares at Takao when the other runs about his kitchen, gasping for a glass of water.

To demonstrate his point, the taller boy scrapes up the dubious contents of his pan and, closing his eyes so as not to see the mess – though he would never admit that out loud to Takao – he places the spoon into his mouth.

Seconds later he joins Takao at the sink as the two of them drown out the disgusting taste through glass after glass of water.

"S-Seriously," Takao gasps, when he can finally stop gagging, "where did you learn how to cook?! H-How on earth did you manage to make fried rice taste like _rotting flesh?_"

"Cooking is a difficult task," Midorima argues, reluctantly tipping an afternoon's worth of hard work into the bin. His face is faintly tinged. "I assume the rice was out of date. Normally, it tastes…" He falters. "Well, it's edible."

"Really, now." Takao raises an eyebrow skeptically. "You burnt it to a crisp, Shin-chan. Why can't you just admit that you're a bad cook?"

"Because I'm not," retorts Midorima hotly, face flushing as he turns to run his hands underneath the tap.

"Oy, oy, Shin-chan, it's not good to be in denial, OK?" Takao smirks, sidling up to rest his chin on Midorima's shoulder. In retaliation, Midorima flicks some water into his face.

"Don't stand too close to me. Cancers have a bad compatibility with Scorpios today."

"Hey, are you saying it's all my fault?" Takao frowns, folding his arms in mock seriousness. "Blaming it all on the stars we were born under is a bit too conveninent, isn't it Shin-chan?" He pushes his face closer again. "That's not like you, y'know?"

Midorima slaps him away. "If you don't like my cooking," he states, coldly "then you don't stay."

Takao smirks. Midorima's pride was the best thing about him, he decides. _Makes him so much easier to mess with. _"But I thought you didn't like your own cooking either," he reminds the other, innocently. "Are you gonna kick yourself out too?"

Midorima glares at him for a long moment, and then turns away with a resolute huff.

_Ooh. The ace is angry. _But Takao isn't concerned. Grinning, he slides forwards and snakes an arm around the other's shoulders, pulling himself almost to his tip-toes in order to gaze imploringly into Midorima's eyes.

"Hey, hey," he purrs, "I was just joking, alright? Aww, don't pout, Shin-chan! Smileeeee!"

It is a daring thing to do, but he presses on regardless, pressing his fingers upon Midorima's cheeks and pulling the corners of the other boy's mouth up into a grotesque smile.

For a moment, Midorima freezes, body tensing, and instantly he jerks back, out of Takao's grasp. Suddenly he _is_ angry, brows furrowed, eyes piercing behind his glasses, mouth turned into a scowl, and Takao wonders if he has pushed him too far.

"Get out," said Midorima shortly, and pointed towards the kitchen door.

"H-Hey," Takao drops the jokes and the smiles, and raises both his arms peacefully. "Shin-chan, I wasn't being serious."

"I don't care," Midorima's eyes narrow. "Get out."

Takao shakes his head. "Look, I'm sorry," he tries, plaintively, and wonders at how much damage Midorima's pride has actually taken from his words. "I was honestly joking, Shin-chan. I didn't mean to upset you."

Midorima pulls back his hand, but his expression is still closed off. "I'm not upset," he declares, like a young child.

Takao almost laughs at his words, though he controls himself enough to keep his expression serious.

"Shin-chan, don't be upset, OK?" he tries. "Your cooking wasn't that bad, honestly. I was just… exaggerating and joking around." He pauses, considering. "Hey, how about you cook me something again?"

He would probably regret it later, but he couldn't stand seeing Shin-chan looking at him like this.

Midorima hesitates, and a frown settles upon his face. "You don't like my cooking," he points out, almost accusingly.

"No, I do," Takao lies, but when something clears in Midorima's eyes, he feels the words coming out a lot easier. "Honestly, Shin-chan. I was just being an idiot before, but this time, I swear I will eat every single scrap."

He is going to hate himself. He knows that.

Midorima looks at him, doubtfully, then huffs. "If you insist," he mutters, and smoothens the apron he is wearing. "… Wait in the living room." He orders, voice only slightly hesitating. "I will… try something else."

Takao smiles. _Finally. _"You're not mad at me anymore?"

"Of course I am," Midorima answers, shortly. "But you are at my house, and you are my guest, so I must do what you need me to do."

_Tsundere. _Takao thinks to himself, even as another smirk spread across his face. "If you'll really do what I tell you to…" he begins, backing slowly towards the door, "then keep that apron on a little longer, will ya?"

And when Midorima stiffens slightly at his words, he adds: "You look really cute in it."

The kitchen door slams shut just in time to witness the shooter explode in rage.


	6. Break

**6 – ...**

Midorima doesn't even see it coming.

One moment, they are bickering as usual. Midorima is holding his glass ball – the lucky item for the day, and Takao is pedalling, hard.

Midorima still remembers his last words, before the car hits.

"Jeez, Shin-chan. It should have been you cycling today."

Then there is a screech of brakes and a horrifying scream. Midorima doesn't know where it came from, perhaps an onlooker, perhaps himself, and the impact strikes and he feels as though he is flying, as though he has become one of his own shots, soaring through the air. All breath escapes him and the words 'Takao, you fool', are still half-formed upon his lips.

He doesn't know where Takao is, and he doesn't have the time to find out.

Distantly, his lucky item, the glass ball, shatters. Midorima thuds against the pavement, the world goes black.


	7. Love hopes

**7. Love hopes**

The hospital let Midorima out merely a week after the crash. The unsympathetic doctor treating him told him, bluntly and without disguise, that he was lucky. Extremely so. "Whatever gods you believe in must have ducked in last minute," he said, "I haven't seen many car crashes at that speed that leads only to a broken arm and a bump on the head." He had glared at Midorima then, as though he was somehow to blame for his own good luck. "You need to be more careful, young man."

Midorima had nodded, without a word, and a few days after that conversation he was taken home, where his frantic parents promptly decided that he was clearly unfit for school and gave him extra permission to remain at home and study there.

Clutching his arm wrapped in cast, he sometimes finds himself wondering if he will ever shoot again. But very quickly, he dismisses the thought as a ridiculous one.

Not to mention a trivial one, because when compared to Takao…

Midorima lifts up his head. _It's time again._

* * *

"… Uh huh, it's the boy who visits every day," says the nurse over the phone, shooting Midorima a somewhat apprehensive look.

Midorima finds his brows furrowing in displeasure. "I'm not a boy," he declares, warningly. "My name is Midorima Shintaro, a student at Shuutoku High."

The nurse waves a hand exasperatingly. "Alright. The room's that way. You know where to go."

Midorima nods curtly, and, not forgetting his manners. "Thank you."

Takao's hospital room is quiet, the boy himself equally, if not more so.

Because Takao is in a coma, a slumber from which he may never wake.

Midorima approaches the bed and takes his seat, as usual, by his side.

"Good morning, Takao."

In his hand, is a toy yo-yo. Red. Just as Oha-Asa said it should be.

"This is Scorpio's lucky item for today." He says, and places it upon the bedside table, where, already, sits a collection of items from his previous visits.

He holds up a little key ring, and then adds, a little uselessly: "This is Cancer's lucky item for today."

Takao's chest rises and falls. His facial complexion is paler than usual, half obscured by the mask set upon his nose and mouth. If not the scratches and the bandages, tinged faintly with blood, wrapped thickly around his hair, he almost looked peaceful.

Midorima watches him.

"You should have had your lucky item with you that day," he lectures, even though he knows that Takao never carried a lucky item with him, and that that day was no different._Perhaps I was the one who should have warned him… _Shaking his head to mask his insecurity, he continues: "That's why I am bringing you your items from now on. You obviously cannot be expected to look after yourself."

Takao says nothing. Midorima isn't sure why he expects him to.

He sighs.

"I suppose it can't be helped. You're such a fool, Takao. You need to watch where you're going next time."

_Next time… _Will there be a next time? Midorima pauses, and his voice falls almost as though to an echo. The room is silent. Is it listening, or is it simply ignoring?

"… Wake up."

Takao's eyes remain closed. There is not the slightest hitch even to his breathing.

Midorima stands.

"I will come back tomorrow."


	8. Love perseveres

**8. Love perseveres**

He keeps his promise. Every day, he enters the hospital, clutching Scorpio's lucky item. Sometimes, he would talk to the other boy. Tell him of what is going on in the basketball team, what is going on in school, what is going on in other schools. Seirin are advancing rapidly through the tournaments. Kuroko is beginning to perfect his basketball techniques. The winter tournaments are approaching, and Shuutoku is performing harsher, stricter training…

Not that Takao will be able to see any of that. Midorima never says this out loud.

One day, a nurse approaches.

"Midorima-kun," she says, all soft voices and quiet, mournful eyes. "I'm afraid… The hospital has come to a decision. Takao-kun is… is… beyond our hope. He has been here for several months and we feel that there are no further improvement in his condition." She pauses, watching him carefully. "We fear that we may have to… finish this."

Midorima stays silent. His eyes are focused upon the lucky items that had gathered over the months, spilling from the table and sitting haphazardly around Takao's bed.

The nurse waits for him to speak, but when he doesn't, she ventures to continue.

"I'm sorry to inform this to you. I know you are… you must be, very close, but Takao-kun's family have already agreed with the doctor's decisions, and you… you must understand…"

"Eight weeks," says Midorima.

The nurse blinks. "I-I'm sorry?"

"Eight weeks. Give him eight more weeks to wake up." His voice is firm, steadier than he himself feels, and he looks into her eyes, sharply. "My family will pay for the excess fees during that time."

"U-Um…" The nurse takes a step back. "I'm afraid that's not… that's not a decision I can make… or accept. I don't know if… If that's…"

"Miss…" He bows his head, and the words become slow and difficult. Midorima Shintaro, ace shooter of Shuutoku High, a member of the Generation of Miracles, did not often beg.

But today…

"Please."

The nurse looks at him, bewildered, and then something overcomes her eyes. She nods. Did she understand? Midorima did not know for certain.

But she said: "I will see what I can do."

Midorima hesitates. "Thank you."

He turns back towards the sleeping form of Takao, brows furrowed, hands clenched.

"_Takao Kazunari… If you don't wake up in those eight weeks, then I swear, I will come after you myself._"

He must be going mad, because he thinks he sees Takao's lips quirk faintly into a smile.


	9. Love trusts

**9. Love trusts**

Midorima waits.

Week one passes with nothing. Takao's heartbeat is steady. His breathing is steady. His eyes remain firmly shut.

Midorima continues his routines. Every day, he deposits another lucky item. Every day, he sits beside Takao's bed, chatting occasionally, but mostly reading.

Though there is no change to his composure, there is no one more nervous, more desperate, than he is.

Week two. Midorima clutches on to his lucky item of the day with such force that he almost breaks it. Sometimes, he sits by Takao's bed and listens to Oha-Asa, waiting for Scorpio's luck to rise.

_Since when, _he thinks to himself, occasionally, _have I started to listen for the luck of someone other than myself?_

He shakes his head, in disbelief, but the evidence, the various toys and items scattered around Takao's bed, proves otherwise.

_Since when have I started to grow fond of him? _

He stands up when the clock ticks towards five.

"I have to go," he says, to the motionless form of the boy lying on the bed.

He pauses, and adds, as he always does:

"I will come back tomorrow."

Week three. Week four. Week five.

Takao lies perfectly straight. No matter how many times Midorima visited, no matter _what_ time, he lies there as though prepared for his coffin.

A thought which Midorima absolutely cannot allow.

Week six. His sister accompanies him to the hospital.

"Nii-san," she says, looking down at the still boy in the bed. "… I think you should give up."

Midorima does not even glance in her direction. "The eight weeks haven't finished yet," he says, stubbornly.

The girl sighs. "Nii-san, I know you care, and I know Takao-kun must be grateful too, but…" She rests a hand upon his shoulder. "I'm sorry, nii-san."

She says nothing more after that, and instead begins to tidy the items Midorima has been bringing every day, organising them carefully one after the other until they are stacked up high.

Neither brother nor sister utter a word.

Eventually, his sister is quiet. Takao's room is ordered now, no longer cluttered and overwhelmed. The clock ticks towards five.

"Nii-san," says the younger girl, quietly. "I think we should leave."

"You can go ahead," says Midorima, who has not moved for the past few hours. His eyes remain fixed upon the other boy's face. "I would like… a little longer."

The girl pauses. "… I see, Nii-san," she nods, and then hesitates, as though she is about to say more.

But she doesn't, and presently, Midorima hears the door click shut after her.

He lets his tears fall.

Midorima cries silently. Salty liquid dripping freely down from his eyes. They slide across his cheeks, pale trails of silver, into his palms, on to the floor. Only the faintest, shuddering breath gives him away. Even then, it is barely audible.

_Takao, you fool… _

There are two weeks left. The only one he has ever trusted held the last of his faith between Death's door.

Takao is still.

Midorima closes his eyes.

"I will come back tomorrow."

_And you… you have to be here tomorrow, smirking at me like the fool that you are…_

_… __Please. _


	10. Love never fails

**10. Love never fails**

… Because on the eighth week, Takao woke up.

_"__Hey, Shin-chan. Did you miss me?"_


End file.
